


The Mighty Fall

by Jen963



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Fall of the Riders, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jen963/pseuds/Jen963
Summary: A series of short stories, not in chronological order, set during the Fall of the Dragon Riders. My take on the events leading up to Galbatorix taking control of the Empire, but follows canon as closely as possible.
Kudos: 1





	1. Madman

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, lay claim to the Inheritance Cycle.  
> This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, though I am no stranger to writing in general.

Melthaen nodded to the rest of the elder Riders once everyone had assembled and the scrying mirrors were set up for those who were absent but were still needed for the meeting. Oromis, given leadership of this current gathering as Vrael was busy with more important matters, called for the door to be opened. 

In strode in the subject of the meeting, the Dragon Rider who had just lost their dragon in a foolish trip north. Galbatorix is his name, Melthaen remembered, and his dragon was Jarnunvösk before she passed. The young human walked with his shoulders squared and head held high. His dark eyes swept around to look at those present who would decide his fate. He stopped in the middle of the room, equidistant from all of the elders assembled in this round chamber. To Melthaen, Galbatorix held an aura of confidence rarely seen in young Riders, much less those who suffered in the worst imaginable way.

“ _He does not look or act as if he lost his dragon,_ ” he commented to his own dragon Serunda, lounging somewhere in Doru Araeba along with a few other dragons who were paired with elder Riders. One of the largest tamed dragons still living, Serunda rarely did much more than sleep or groom her dazzling orange scales. The other elder dragons almost seemed small in comparison and much more lively.

“ _That is odd,_ ” she said slowly. 

“ _It is. I wonder if he has managed the death better than what he has told the healers. Never have I seen a Rider like him appear so calm, so sane, and I have seen many in his situation._ ”

“ _If so, then he is strong indeed and might prove useful for future stricken Riders. Perhaps you can ask him what his secrets are. Maybe dragons can benefit as well._ ”

Imperceptibly, Melthaen nodded at his dragon’s words. Galbatorix was not the first Rider to lose their dragon, and would not be the last. Any hit of aid that can be determined and given to those Riders, and even to similarly affected dragons, could make a world of difference.

“ _Or could Jarnunvösk reside in her Eldunarí? Is he Indlvarn?_ ”

Melthaen considered the possibility for a moment. “ _The healers mentioned that Jarnunvösk is no more, that Galbatorix is alone. I do not believe her Eldunarí exists anymore._ ”

"Galbatorix-vodhr, Rider of Jarnunvösk, you stand before us today to recount your fatal adventure and explain why your dragon and several others of our Order perished," said Oromis. "Explain to us the reasoning behind this venture and after we shall pass judgment as we see fit. Proceed."

"Very well," said the former Rider, voice deeper and richer than Melthaen had ever heard in a human so young. "Are not the Riders masters and officers of this land? The wisest, most courageous, and most powerful beings in Alagaësia? When we completed our training, we set off for the far north, to lands where ice gleams brightly in the summer sun. Places that might seem lifeless, and yet, are not. Urgals roam those lands, lands that might hold vast riches as yet untapped by us or those brutes. We the Riders can explore these far reaches, observing and searching, in hopes that great discoveries can be found. Yet we have not. We leave these far lands in the hands of monsters who slaughter one another and others in the name of glory and prestige.

“And should it be this way? Should they be allowed to own these lands and the resources that would be better used here in Alagaësia? We set out to the north to survey, to search for these riches. We hoped that our efforts could begin a true Golden Age, where gold flowed into the realms of the land like rivers, where every woman, from the poorest of beggars to the richest of queens, may dress in glittering jewels, and the bounds of Alagaësia could expand, giving every man who desires it a piece of land for himself. Even new discoveries could be made if resources are found that do not exist here.

"Grandeur would not be the realm of the powerful, as it is now." Galbatorix gestured to the room around them all, a circular chamber built from the most pristine granite the Riders could mine in the Spine, and carved with magic to appear elegant and awe-inspiring, not to mention melded together with few seams. Gilded carvings of dragons were mounted on two sides of every column, watching over proceedings with their fierce glares. Fairths hung in gem-encrusted frames. "Grandeur would be accessible to all if we fly out and bring back these riches.

“And through all of this, we the Riders would watch over everyone, keeping them safe from monsters like the Urgals while searching for yet more wealth, more resources. We could make Alagaësia a far better place if we found it within ourselves to act, to explore, to take risks. And that is what I did alongside Jarnunvösk and my friends.”

Galbatorix’s voice dropped a little, and an edge crept into his words. “But it would not be. You all are content to remain here on Vroengard, maintaining the current state of affairs. We went alone, without the help of an older, wiser Rider or dragon. Jarnunvösk is now dead, as are my friends, as a result of the treachery of the foul Urgals. But I am willing to try again, for I too am now older and wiser. But in order to do so, I need another dragon. Another partner of my soul.”

"You know that dragons choose their Riders, not us," said the only human elder on the council, Hayden. "If we were to allow you to touch the eggs, and none desired to hatch for you, that might be a detriment to your well-being. However, we might be able to arrange an egg or two for you to touch."

"Perhaps," Melthaen said. "Galbatorix-vodhr, you make a good argument about exploring the far reaches of the world. Indeed, we have not thoroughly charted many of the lands beyond Alagaësia, but there is a good reason for this. While we have the ability, we do not have the numbers for such a task. Our talents are needed here, and that is why we remain. Urgals, Shades, and other fiends can stalk this land at any time, and we must be ready to take care of what we have. If perhaps another dragon hatches for you, or if a wild dragon wishes to carry you, we can grant you permission to explore. But many things must happen between now and then, and I cannot guarantee anyone will accompany you."

Oromis nodded. “And we must also discuss your punishment for your adventure. Regardless of your motives, none of you were authorized to leave Alagaësia. Jarnunvösk’s death might be considered punishment enough, Galbatorix-vodhr. But I believe it wise to wait to present you the eggs until we can be sure you will not act recklessly again. I do not wish to see you or another dragon die, even for one of noble intent.”

The young man clenched his fists. His calm composure began to crack. “When the Urgals attacked, we did not have a way to protect ourselves. An arrow pierced Jarnunvösk’s heart, and I did not have the knowledge to save her. Now I do. I have learned much during my journey back. Including that you do not care to teach young Riders the skills necessary to protect themselves. And you say her death is _my_ fault?”

“Calm yourself,” said one of the elders present through a scrying mirror, Nierya. Her soft voice drastically contrasted with Galbatorix’s deep tones. “It takes decades of study for one to become a master of all of the subjects taught to Riders. What you and your companions have received is the fundamentals, enough to begin service to the Order and Alagaësia. Not enough to be proficient for the tasks you desired to perform in the far north.”

“ _Galbatorix is not as sane as he first appeared,_ ” Melthaen said to Serunda. 

“ _Is it best to end his suffering?_ ”

“ _If Galbatorix desires it, then I will go through with ending his life. Or if Oromis comes to that conclusion. Until then, he will live._ ”

Galbatorix shook his head and began to yell. “You hoard your knowledge. You killed Jarnunvösk and my friends by not teaching us everything. How many others have to die before things change? My dragon is dead. Dead! And here you sit, blaming me. Not all of you saw fit to even show up in person. And where is Vrael? Does he not care? This whole Order is corrupt. This cannot stand.”

"That's enough, Galbatorix-vodhr," said Oromis. "I am concerned with your mental state. It is not our fault that Jarnunvösk is dead. If you had not taken this trip, she would still live. All you needed to do is submit your suggestion to the council, for I do believe there is merit to what you explained. We would have considered it and in the future, when you could have been spared, we or Vrael might have contacted you for such a mission. But because of your madness, I reject the suggestion to present you to any other dragon eggs."

“I agree,” said Nierya. “You could be a negative influence on another dragon, even if you do not fly out towards further danger. You could make another dragon insane, and I will not stand for that.”

“And yet you do not have the courage to stand before me, Nierya,” Galbatorix growled.

"She has her reasons, and they are valid," Melthaen said. "And I too agree. Also, I do not think another dragon will choose to hatch for you anymore. There is malice in your heart and misplaced anger that no dragon would like to associate themselves with. As the oldest Rider present, I can say I have seen something similar to your situation before, and I know the kinds of traits dragons are typically searching for in a potential Rider. No egg will hatch for you, and that alone will drive you further into madness and hatred."

More and more of the elders gave their agreement. A few said nothing, but none openly took Galbatorix’s side. With every vote against his wish, Galbatorix’s stance grew angrier and more aggressive. Eyes full of hate swept across the room to face whoever spoke at the time. 

“It is settled,” Oromis said in a firm tone. “Galbatorix-vodhr, you shall never have contact with another dragon egg. As for your punishment, I believe expulsion from the Order would be the best course of action. If the others agree, I will arrange for transport to the mainland, and you will be free to do as you wish, but you will have no association with the Dragon Riders.”

Every elder agreed to the proposal. Melthaen knew that was a normal procedure for Riders who went mad over the death of their dragon. He had given the order to many stricken Riders in the past. Still, it concerned him to let Galbatorix go freely, seeing that his mind was not stable. Other Riders descended into a pit of grief or sought revenge for the one who killed their dragon. Those Riders typically were not far away from joining the void. Galbatorix, though, seemed… a different kind of insane. An insane that could lead to trouble.

“ _Should I kill him anyway?_ ” Serunda asked.

“ _No. It is not for us to subvert Oromis’s orders, and he has not condemned the human to death. Nor has Galbatorix wished it._ ”

“ _It can be a mere accident._ ”

“ _No, Serunda._ ”

“ _Yet you feel you might come to regret your decision._ ”

“ _I do, but I cannot predict the future. We can only do what we are allowed to do._ ”

“Then you all shall die! Jarnunvösk will be avenged. Corrupt, greedy bastards. I will tear everything down,” said the mad Rider. 

“Hatred is the path to ruin, Galbatorix-vodhr. I hope for your sake you find it within yourself to recognize the faults in your statements and understand the true nature of what has occurred. Then you can release the anger in your heart and make something good come of your life. The matter here is closed, and you are expelled. A ship will leave the island tomorrow morning. I will make sure the captain knows you will be aboard for the trip. The ship is named Aiedail’s Chaser. Gather your belongings and begone. May the stars watch over you, Galbatorix-vodhr.”

With no other word, Galbatorix stormed out of the room. Melthaen murmured goodbyes to the elders in the scrying mirrors, then ended each spell. The other elders slowly shuffled out of the room, on their way to whatever other duties they had for the day.

"Melthaen-elda," said Oromis. "Could you alert other Riders not busy with their duties to keep an eye on Galbatorix? Preferably experienced ones. I do not like the change that came about him when we denied his request."

He nodded. “I shall, Oromis-elda. Serunda and I were also concerned. I feel as if allowing him to roam unchecked might be dangerous.”

The other elf nodded slightly. "We have no grounds yet to do anything beyond observation. Perhaps this may all pass. It is a shame that Riders and dragons had to die in this incident."

Melthaen closed his eyes. He let himself imagine for a moment what it would be like to lose Serunda. His very heart and soul. He would not be clear-headed either. Not after having her soul bound to his for nearly as long as the Riders have even existed.

But what Galbatorix and his dragon did, as well as their friends, was against the rules and had to be corrected. The human Rider hopefully learned his lesson, and hopefully, he finds a cure for the poison that now courses through his heart.

“May the stars watch over you, Melthaen-elda,” Oromis said, leaving him to stand alone in the chamber.


	2. Du Namar Aurboda

In the distance, the pointy-ear-war-shelter stood smoking and crumbling. Four-and-ten dragons and their murder-magic-Rider-masters had flown away as the lazy-eye-sun set the previous day. Now sky-master-free-dragons like her and bond-slave-tame-dragons fly to survey the death and destruction. A full day had passed, and many dragons, including herself, wished to witness the crimes committed and punish the evil-traitor-Riders and the evil-traitor-dragons responsible.

Even so far away, death-decay-stench permeated the air, irritating her nostrils. Many other dragons cried and roared into the air, daring any of the traitors to answer for their crimes. But they were long gone, plotting their next move. One wild-free-kin showed a picture of the vast, Rider-base-island across the sea, with the ones responsible for the current destruction approaching the faraway place.

Blinking-fire-lights had taken over the sky by the time she reached the place the bond-slave-tame-dragons called Ilirea. Two-leg structures lay in ruins. Dragon-belly-flames consumed many wooden homes. Tiny two-legs, pointed-ears and rounded-ears, ran from one scattered-nest to another. But she did not care about the tribulations of the two-legs. She cared for the dead bodies of dragons laying around, mostly unattended.

Most were Rider-slave-dragons. Dragons who relied on the word-will-magic-Riders to protect them, who were not master-of-the-skies fliers. These dragons would be the first to fall in battle. These dragons were the first to answer master-Rider-Vrael, slaves that they were.

Yet she saw many of her free-wild-kin, dragons who believed themselves the masters of the land. Sharp-of-tooth and fierce-of-claw, yet dragons who were clearly killed by the foul murder-magic-Riders and their dark arts. The sight made her angry.

Hard-stone-two-leg paths refused to yield underneath as she slammed to the ground, growling at those around her. Two-legs of all sorts scurried away, as they should. A scant few watched with wide eyes as she folded her magnificent wings and stood tall. Whether it was out of fear, amazement, or awe she did not know, nor did she care. 

Not far away, a proud-free-sky-master-dragon lay motionless, her scales the color of crimson-sunset. A dragon she recognized, one of many-eggs-hatched, countless-seasons-endured, terror-of-the-tiny-two-legs. 

She growled again, then approached the dead dragon. She had no relation to her but knew her well. That she was dead hurt her deeply. She summoned her deep-belly-indigo-inferno to cremate the crimson dragon. The flames lit the night.

Some wild-sky-master dragon nearby reached out to her, showing her images of the four-and-ten dragons that did this with their Rider-slavers. The dragon emphasized that the moonless-black-twisted-slave-dragon, it said was called Shruikan, was forced to fight, while the other three-and-ten fought willingly. 

That dragon’s anger flared her own further. Evil-traitor-dragons chose to kill their own. She sent back an image of herself tearing into the neck of one of the traitors. Hot-life-blood would rain when she was finished, as she pictured it painting the ground below. 

She imagined killing each one, including the coward-Rider-slave-black-dragon fighting unwillingly. A real dragon would be able to fight back.

Another dragon joined them, but she could instantly tell it was a tamed-boned-Rider-dragon. It spoke many words she did not understand, but also communicated in images that she could. 

The murder-magic-traitor-Riders wanted sacred-dragon-hearts to magnify their power. They wanted to kill all Riders and dragons and become the masters of the land. A brief bit of warning allowed the two-leg-Riders to move the old-dragon-glimmering-hearts away from the pointy-ear-war-shelter in time, but the traitors already enslaved many.

Several more dragons joined the conversation and pooled their collective anger. The bonded-tame-Rider-slave-dragon explained to all, further fueling the hatred. Larger, powerful dragons such as her expanded their minds outward, searching for other nearby dragons to share the news to. This would not stand and all dragons, free-sky-masters and bonded-Rider-tamed, needed to know. 

A hot-blood feeling like no other claimed her body and coursed through the mental connection. All their anger, and all their sorrow, all came to a head, and one of the few dragons larger than her tapped his snout to the ground.

It was as if the old-bones-land rippled for a moment. She felt a little drained, unsure of what had just happened. Nothing else felt different, her anger of the traitor-Rider-dragons had not eased. 

Walking through the tattered-broken-two-leg-nests, she spotted other dead dragons, ones she did not recognize. They had deep gashes in their chests around the location of their sacred-dragon-hearts. Flames flickered from her nostrils at the sight. 

A Rider-bonded-slave-dragon spoke again to the other dragons, but it spoke with no images. She ignored it until another dragon, wild-free-kin translated. No dragon present who knew the murder-traitor-dragons could remember the names. Except for the one they called Shruikan. 

One dragon, the one who tapped his snout against the ground, sent out feelings of hope. She growled; what hope could be brought from this? Only Rider-slave-dragons and a rare few wild-free-kin had two-leg names. Being nameless meant nothing.

Yet that dragon held on to his hope, and she grudgingly acknowledged him. Old and wise he was, scarred-hide-big-tooth, and he had more wisdom than she had. He might know more of what happened but had not yet explained.

Each time she came across another dragon, she bathed them in her writhing-indigo-belly-flames until they were nothing more than ashes. A few had Rider-master-saddles and they burned too. 

The dead burned as a dragon should. In time the traitor-murder-dragons shall burn alive for their crimes. At least no one will ever remember their two-leg names. Cowards did not deserve to be remembered.


	3. Preparing for Disaster

Though it was a tight squeeze, Sharjarth wanted to follow her Rider down the steep-smooth-shelter-tunnel to the newly named Vault of Souls. A place no one would remember as soon as they returned outside but would be of utmost importance if the worst came to pass. And it had every chance of happening.

Her Rider, Nierya, held a pale blue egg, one Sharjarth herself had laid a few days ago. A beautiful orb with white veins, a different shade of blue than her first egg, which had odd and rare black veins. Destined to be bonded to a two-leg just like its older brother, but only if the future was not so vicious. 

“ _How much farther?_ " Sharjarth asked Nierya. Her two-leg-pointy-ears had been here already before the forget-memory-spell had been cast. Many dragon eggs and dragon hearts were already stored here, deep underground and safe from the egg-breaker-coward-traitors that would eventually attack. 

“Not much farther,” her heart-soul-being-partner said softly. “There is an archway that you will have trouble squeezing through. Try not to let your scales damage the runes etched onto it. They have great importance.”

Snorting, Sharjarth nodded. If not for the sheer gravity of this venture, she would grumble at the idea of some stone arch scratching her magnificent lavender scales, not about scraping some two-leg scratches. But any misstep could threaten the future of her race, for the traitors had focused their efforts on stealing the strength of dragons. And carelessness would threaten the future of her egg. She would not allow that. It was hard enough that she had to completely abandon the hatchling to the whims of fate and to the trust of those who merely hoped something could be done to stop the traitors.

Nierya's werelight began to light up the arch in question sometime later, a black structure covered in many glyphs. Deep-earth-breath assaulted her sensitive nose. Additional light spilled into the steep-smooth-shelter-tunnel. The way before them leveled out, but Sharjarth could not see into the vault yet.

After her Rider passed under the arch, Sharjarth flattened herself and crawled. No spell-sung-stone-arch was going to keep her from following her heart-soul-being-partner or her egg. Slowly, she made it through, not even touching any of the thorny glyphs. Sharjarth snorted smoke in amusement as she straightened herself. Large dragons such as herself could be nimble when needed.

“Ah, Nierya, Sharjarth. The last one?” said a voice she knew well. The leader of the Order. The two-leg-pointy-ears Vrael.

“Yes, Vrael-elda,” Nierya said. “Sharjarth’s own egg.” Sharjarth nodded an affirmative.

The pit producing the deep-earth-breath and the deep-earth-fire glowed in the center of the Vault of Souls. A warmth that made Sharjarth feel alive. Yet very nervous. If it served its purpose, then she and Nierya would soon be in the void, and oath-breaker-Galbatorix would have completed his goal. 

“And Sharjarth is still not leaving her Eldunarí here?” Vrael asked.

To this Sharjarth answered directly. “ _No, I am needed elsewhere, as I and Umaroth-elda have already discussed. The Eldunarya here do not need another elder to bridge generational gaps. No, I shall fight, and I shall go where I am needed. I trust those here to guard my egg._ ”

Slowly Nierya walked to an empty alcove. With the same gentleness she used for her two-leg-son years ago, her Rider slowly set the pale blue egg within. 

Somewhere near, the dragon-man-metal containing the Eldunarí of Cuaroc stood near, watching over the proceedings. A physical guardian for all who will reside within this vault. Sharjarth snorted to him in greeting, to which Cuaroc bowed his gleaming head. A great dragon he had been in the flesh, and hopefully a champion for the future of dragon kind should the worst happen.

“May the world you hatch into be as bright as the one I have lived, or even brighter. Sharjarth and I shall do our best to ensure this,” Nierya murmured to the egg. “And may your future Rider bring you infinite happiness and joy.”

Vrael walked over and placed a hand on Nierya's shoulder. He looked up at Sharjarth and spoke. "When you two leave here, go scry Oromis-elda in Ellesméra. He might be able to provide a solution to that which worries you." Also, their leader spoke a few words that would allow them to remember that suggestion.

“I shall, Vrael-elda,” Nierya replied.

Sharjarth nodded as well. Nierya's son had bonded to Sharjarth's first offspring. They both worried for the apprentice Rider and dragon, who now reside in Doru Araeba with no direction and no instructors. They did not know it, but it was by Nierya's urging that they leave Ilirea for another tour of grand-Rider-heart-Vroengard, as they believe they are here for. They did not know Nierya wanted them close so she and Sharjarth could protect them.

The deep-earth-breath began to burn Sharjarth’s eyes and she blinked several times, shaking her head. Even though it hurt to think it, leaving as soon as possible would ease her fear and pain over leaving her egg here. It would soon be completely forgotten. “ _May we leave?_ ”

“Yes. There is little you two can do here, now that the eggs and Eldunarya are here,” said Vrael, lifting his hand away. “May the stars watch over you.“

“And may peace be in your heart,” Nierya said. 

“ _May the winds guide us towards better times, may our strength bring justice back to the land, and may we all convene and rejoice in brighter times with the traitors dead or imprisoned,_ ” she said, not just to Vrael or Nierya, but to all of the Eldunarya present.

Only one Eldunarí answered, the oldest of the dragons present, the wild dragon Valdr. He showed her an image of three eggs, one blue, one red, and one green, with the twisted-stolen-slave Shruiken guarding them. Then the impression of the weight of fate itself on those three eggs.

“Go, Nierya, Sharjarth,” Vrael murmured. I shall finalize preparations here with others. Go prepare Doru Araeba for battle.”

“Yes, Vrael-elda.”

Her two-leg-pointy-ears left the vault first, and Sharjarth hurried to follow. She almost scraped the stone arch on her way out but remembered in time to crawl through as low as possible. As they approached the surface, part of her mind became cloudy, as if she had already forgotten what had just transpired.

An elf awaited them at the surface. Chanting silently in the ancient language, his mind touched her’s, and probably Nierya’s. More clouds, and… what was she just doing? Ah yes, helping her Rider in setting a trap to hopefully ensnare any traitorous Rider that lands here. There were more traps to set. And they needed to speak with Oromis-elda soon.

“Remember that the treasury and the library are their primary targets,” said the elf. “Save your strength for those. Let me set the small, scattered traps, Nierya-elda.”

“Yes, of course.”

Sharjarth kneeled, even though her two-leg-pointy-ears was more than capable of climbing her full height. With a roar, they ascended into the sky, working on preparing the Riders’ grand city for the battle to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These little short stories are meant to fit in with the original story as best as I can manage. However, there are also small references to another fanfic I want to do of this series, one spanning from the battle of Doru Araeba to the end of Inheritance. Nierya's son and his dragon are two of the three main characters.


	4. The Theft

Part of him wanted to feel overjoyed for the young boy who would become his student. Hayden watched the boy, far from fully grown, play with his recently hatched black dragon in a courtyard outside the Rider stronghold here in Ilirea. Wostafel, he recalled the name. They had only met this morning, and he was already growing fond of him.

Yet as one of the oldest human Riders, Hayden knew all too well just how hard it was to outlive friends and family, to become something so far different that while his family lived, they recognized him less and less. Wostafel would feel the same, along with the other two human Rider apprentices in Ilirea and every other human Rider who still lived. It felt depressing, and one day he would have to break the news to the boy. Immortality, even when shared with a partner spellbound to one's soul, could be a curse.

Before the sun touched the horizon, Hayden called out to his student and his dragon. Wostafel immediately hurried to him, but the dragon hesitated. He seemed saddened, perhaps over the loss of a playmate. Hayden wondered if the dragon, as he aged, would become a troublemaker or just always playful. 

Finally, the dragon approached and rubbed its head against Wostafel's legs. Briefly, he tugged at the boy's hand until Wostafel jerked away. Hayden saw no marks on the boy's hand but made a mental note to silently cast protection wards later so that the dragon did not inadvertently hurt his Rider.

“Until the elders assign a room for you two, you’ll have to sleep together in the dragon stables. They’re not comfortable for people, I know, but I can bring you a cot if you wish. Actually, I will bring you a cot. I have a spare I use when traveling. Inestavar will show you the way.”

“Yes, master.”

Hayden smiled. Wostafel was a very polite boy, and very quick to pick up on new things. “Good. He’ll be here soon. He’s not as big as the dragon who carried you here, but he’s a big softie and very kind. Takes after me, I think.”

The boy smiled. “Master, can I ride his back? Will he let me?”

“If you ask politely. But he’ll pick you up by your collar, so don’t bother if you value your shirt.”

Wostafel came from a small village not far south of Gil'ead and wore what looked like worn clothes passed down from older sibling to younger sibling. Hayden's words would not scare the young boy. Or at least, he did not think so. Not that he wanted them to. Let the boy become accustomed to riding a dragon, make the coming months that much smoother. The black hatchling would thank him later.

As soon as his dragon arrived, Hayden set out to grab his spare cot. Mentally, he assessed his interactions with Wostafel and how the other Riders might criticize him. Other than telling the boy to call him and Inestavar “master,” he had used or explained no formalities nor any of the rules for an apprentice Rider. Not how to properly greet those of higher status, not how dragons rarely carried anyone besides their Rider, and not where in the stronghold he was allowed to go. He even spoke casually the whole time, not formally with all of the confidence and authority a teacher should have.

That Wostafel was a boy was no excuse, and Hayden shook his head as he walked. Most humans were that young when presented with a dragon egg. Oromis’s two students were that young when their dragons hatched. Perhaps the elders would allow him some leeway since this was his first apprentice. Give him time to adapt to the new role, a role he was eager to accept. 

Yet he had never liked the idea of power and strength and the arrogance bred from it. Nor did he like the politeness the elves wove into their society and the Riders. Perhaps it was necessary, and he always adhered to the rules expected of him, but he never cared for it.

On his way to his chambers, he walked by the open chamber of some other Rider. Hayden walked by without looking inside until a voice stopped him.

“Hayden-elda, atra esterní ono thelduin.”

Standing in the doorway, Hayden saw an elven Rider he did not recognize touch his fingers to his lips. Hayden returned the favor and said, “atra du evarínya ono varda.”

“Ah, I had hoped you would pass through. How are things with your first student?”

“Well, enough…?”

“Calais, that is my name. Calais of Kirtan. We have met a time or two.”

“Calais-elda, apologies for my ignorance, I did not recognize you. Is there anything you need from me?”

Calais shook his head. "I need nothing from you and do not think me above you anymore. You are a teacher and I am not. I merely desired to greet you and inquire about your student. Wostafel, is it?"

He nodded. “Yes, Wostafel. His dragon is a black male, playful thing. I do not think I have ever seen a black dragon before. I look forward to seeing how he looks as he grows.”

The elf smiled and looked away from Hayden for a moment. "I saw that little dragon earlier and inquired about its Rider. He's got a grand future, that dragon. Black dragons do not glimmer like gems but appear as if covered in the finest blackened steel armor, impenetrable and stronger than the star metal in our swords. A king of dragons in the making. Wostafel must be honored to be picked by such a dragon."

“Let us hope. Wostafel is a nice young boy, poor upbringing but full of respect and wonder. Fearless too. Already wishes to ride Inestavar. I cannot say I was so eager to ride a dragon at his age. Then again, humans had only been a part of the pact for barely a century when I was his age.”

Calais smiled. "Humans. They have always captured my attention. So different you are. Sometimes I cannot stand to deal with another elf. It is in those times when the winds shift and I seek the company of humans. But I think I have kept you here long enough. Let me know how Wostafel and his dragon progress if you will. I am most curious."

“I shall, Calais-elda. May the stars watch over you.”

“And you too. Tell Inestavar I said hello.”

“I will.”

Hayden was barely ten feet down the corridor before he felt a sharp pain in his gut. He doubled over, howling in pain.

“ _Hayden!_ ” Inestavar screamed in his mind. “ _The mad Rider…_ ”

He saw an image of the man who lost his dragon years ago, the one who killed an elder soon after. And another man, a young one, standing near. Galbatorix, the mad Rider, held a bloody sword, preparing to stab again…

And nothing.

No connection. No images. Nothing but pure, unadulterated pain in his gut, his head, and his soul.

Inestavar was gone.

"No!" Hayden screamed and jumped to his feet. His soul-bound partner was gone. As fast as his legs could carry him, he raced towards the stable where Inestavar had been. Briefly, he wondered about the fate of Wostafel and his dragon. They could be dead too. But they did not matter as much. Inestavar was his life. Hayden had seen friends, family and acquaintances die and had learned to deal with death around him. But he never imagined losing his dragon.

“Jierda,” he screamed as the door closing the stable from the stronghold approached. Magic resisted his efforts, but the door finally shattered into a million shards and splinters. Many bounced harmlessly off of his wards. 

Galbatorix ran out of the building with the tiny black hatchling under his arm. The dragon screeched in pain and fear, further ripping into Hayden’s heart. He had no sword on him, only a dagger. And no dragon. 

Collapsing to his knees, he surveyed the scene around him and began to sob. Inestavar had two deep wounds, one to his chest and one to his skull. Hot dragon blood sizzled and oozed on the dirt floor, still far from cooling and congealing. Wostafel lay near with a stab wound near his heart. His chest failed to rise or descend. Both were dead.

All in an instant. Hayden had gone from a worried novice teacher to student-less and dragon-less. From worried about his student outliving relatives to seeing his student's dead body and feeling dead inside. The heartache was so strong, so complete, it felt as if his own heart had been stabbed. Tears spilled unhindered.

Before long someone entered the stable. What was said or done, Hayden did not know. He only could feel the probe of another mind, the search for what happened. He let it, for there was nothing he could do in his pain to protect his mind. No reason to protect his mind. Let them find his weaknesses, let them circumvent his wards and kill him.

Inestavar was dead. He wanted to follow him into the void. 

Revenge did not even appeal to him. He could do little. His source of strength, companionship, and confidence had been stolen. The tiny black dragon had been stolen. Another man had been present, and perhaps his freedom had been stolen by Galbatorix. Wostafel’s life had been stolen.

Hayden was nothing anymore. He felt consciousness fading, but the pain only intensified. Before the world disappeared, he screamed, an image of a sword in Inestavar’s skull imprinting itself in his mind.


End file.
